


Valediction

by thecoldforest



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Other, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoldforest/pseuds/thecoldforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years have passed since the death of Aoba Seragaki, and Clear, remaining unchanged by the passing time, is having a hard time keeping his promise to live as the memories they shared continue to torment him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the text in bold is text I used from Clear's good end route from DRAMAtical Murder Re:connect.  
> I don't own anything.

Three years had passed.

Three years with no laughter to fill the empty rooms. No jokes, no scoldings, no horse voice calling his name to fill the vacant air. It had been three years since he had last seen his smile, three years since he had last touched his skin, three years since he had held him in his arms just to feel his warmth and say 'I love you'. It had been three years since he passed, leaving him alone in the world with only memories that were as clear as the crystal that hung from stings on the celing, sparkling in the sunlight. They were memories that he cherished, clung to desperately, even though they tortured him as brightly flashing lights that showed that as the years they passed together continued to move forward, the other aged and grew older, weaker, while he remained strong and healthy in his body made by human hands, forever perfect.

Three years had passed since Aoba Seragaki died in his sleep at the age of seventy eight, over fifty years after their first official meeting in front of Junk Shop Heibon, and though Clear had passed through those times as if not a day had passed, clinging to untainted memories with not even a gray hair to show for it, nothing could heal the gaping hole the blunette had left in the white haired man's metal and beat-less heart. It made the air he breathed cold and agonizing to take in, even though there was nothing wrong with him. It made him wish with everything he had that, somehow, he could've aged and died with Aoba-san. He had experienced death once, and came back with no fear of it, but no desire to fall into its clutches again either. If he died, then death would separate them and that would be the end of it. However, if he ever had the chance, he would've done anything to reach death just as long as it was with Aoba.

Yet Clear was bound by the limits of a machine, and death had separated them anyway, just as they both knew it would. And because he was a man made thing, Clear knew there would be no meaning in him following suit. Death for a human and death for a machine were two different things. Clear, when he died, would simply seize to exist.

Even so...

**_"I thought of things like destroying myself when you passed but...when I touched you today, I couldn't think of anything else.I don't care about it right now. I want to spend every minute and every second with you."_ **

Those had been Clear's words, heartfelt and honestly spoken in front of that mirror in his old room on the day he returned to Aoba the year following his "death". They make his chest ache now, after all these years.

**_"After I die, you have to keep living on. The only thing that'll make you stop is if you fall asleep or destroy yourself. I don't want to break you when I die and you never know if you'll wake up again if you fall asleep."_ **

_Aoba-san..._

The name stays on his tongue as Clear lets out a soft breath and stands from his chair.

_Aoba-san, it's hard. I don't want to live in a world without you. It hurts to breath without you here, Aoba-san._

_Aoba-san, I want to be with you forever._

Three years have passed since Aoba Seragaki died in his sleep, wrapped in Clear's arms. For three years, Clear had been alone with only memories in the house that they shared. But no more. Slipping on his coat -a newer one tinted lightly blue to replace the one that had worn out- and his shoes, Clear grabs his umbrella that hangs on a hook by the front door, pausing only to lightly touch a framed photograph on a shelf along the wall. A smiling man in his late thirties looks up at him.

"I'm leaving now, Aoba-san."

Removing his hand, Clear opens the front door and steps outside. The sound of an umbrella popping lightly open can be heard as the front door closes shut.

And in the house that had not heard laughter in three years, the empty, vacant air was filled only with the sound of rain tapping on the windows.


	2. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in bold is text from Clear's good route end in DRAMAtical Murder Re:connect.  
> I own nothing.

The rain that fell was still cold when it fell from the early spring sky, softly pattering in little droplets against anything in its path downward toward the earth. When the first drops tapped against his face, then slipped through his fingers when he held out his bare hand, the glove that had covered it seconds ago now shoved carelessly into his jacket pocket, Clear couldn't help but look up and watch for a moment. Just barely he could see them, the rain drops being nothing more than tiny specks that were nearly indistinguishable from the grey clouds that blanketed the space over head. He just stood there, his clear plastic umbrella closed and held at his side, his rose colored eyes fixed on the stormy sky as people passed him by, occasionally giving him strange looks as they hurried about, trying to reach their own destinations without getting too wet.

How long had it been since he had  _seen_  the rain? How long had it been since he actually  _watched_  it fall, feel it against his skin, and inhale its scent? How long had it been since rain was something that was only fleetingly recognized out of the corner of his eye as he sat in his chair at the dining room table, staring at the empty chair across from him as if he could will the one who once sat there to suddenly reappear?

Even with his heightened recollection, Clear could not quite remember.

Hazy apparitions passed through his vision and vivid memories revealed themselves sharply in his mind, his heart further breaking and cracking, seemingly on the verge of shattering into a million pieces, and the white haired being let them flow with no hesitation. Why not let them? Why not let his emotions surge? His heart would not truly shatter, nor could it ever be fixed. He had no heart to begin with, and he had never had one, no matter what he told himself, no matter what Aoba-san told him. Machines didn't have hearts; they had no blood in their veins. So it didn't really matter what seemed to have become broken or crumble under an invisible weight.

It didn't even really matter that all he wanted to do in every waking moment was to curl up into himself and sleep, perhaps never waking, because his mind, consumed by factitious, man-made grief, still held on to the irrational hope that he could dream and maybe, just maybe, dream of seeing Aoba again, alive and healthy, smiling.

But even if he could dream, it would only be just that- a dream. Nothing more than an image created by the desires of the mind.

Letting his outstretched hand to fall to his side, he lifted his umbrella up and popped it open with a light flick of a switch. Water droplets seemed to jump off the clear plastic at the action, flinging themselves in all directions, eager to join with their brothers and sisters who had already reached the earth.

Taking one last look at the sky, Clear let out a soft breath and blinked before focusing his gaze forward again and continued walking as he had been. With each step he took there was a small splash in the puddles that were beginning to form along the sidewalk. The rain increased bit by bit and fell harder now, coming down in droplets nearly three times the size they were before and the flashes of blurred color of people taking shelter lessened the further he went down Aoyagi Street. Though Clear was aware of those few people that remained on the streets, moving out of their way as they rushed by, he wasn't consciously paying any attention to him. The people, their names and faces, all stored crystal clear in his memories, seemed as important as the specs of dust that floated in the air during a hot summer day. They were there, just as the dust had been there, but they could only be seen when one focused directly at them through a beam of light.

And how could he focus on them when,  _there_ , the alleyway a little to his left was the one where he first met Aoba-san, unconscious on the ground beside Ren after their first Rhyme battle with Noiz?  _Master chose a funny place to fall asleep,_ he had thought at the time as he lifted the blue haired man in his arms, even though he knew that Aoba wasn't exactly sleeping. Behind the gas mask that he had long abandoned since then, Clear remembered smiling softly.  _Master is light, almost like a child._

He had said that to Aoba once, though not word for word, when he had been sick. Aoba had punched him harmlessly in the shoulder in response. He had been thirty-three.

Somewhat absent-mindedly, unintentionally, Clear let his feet take them where they pleased, allowing them to wander into that alley and past that certain spot, to which he did not give more than a passing glance. Several turns and curves, along with the occasional turn around at a dead end, lead him down unoccupied back roads and trash scattered pathways until he, with little time, appeared on another main road.

No one walked along the sidewalks of this street, and Clear's left ear could not pick up on the sound of any feet in the distance over the rain. He was alone, all other living things retreating to safety, save a skinny cat peeking its head out at him from beneath a large, green dumpster. The feline's big, yellow eyes met his for just a moment before, with a slow blink, it hid itself again.

Briefly, the white haired being wondered about that cat- whether it lived in the dumpster or beneath it, and could it really be dry under there. Did it get enough to eat or did it starve? Was it sick? Did it have its own family to care for? Quite quickly, those questions dissolved into empty thoughts and, eventually, nothing, and Clear continued on, walking along the path his feet had chosen for him.

It wasn't until he stopped walking and took in his surroundings again with a slightly dazed expression did Clear realize where he ended up wandering to.

It had been years since he had last seen this place, and even longer since had any reason to be there. A tiny building tucked in between two larger ones, the great glass windows lined in pink and white filigree displayed several multi-tiered and beautifully frosted cakes for different occasions, as well as cupcakes and candies of many colors. Inside, the lights were off and the bell had been tucked in. From where he was standing, Clear could just make out the silhouette of the sign that usually stood on the side walk, announcing the shop's specials for the day, leaning against the wall by the door.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

_Aoba-san loves the cakes here._

Clear shook his head, though the action was barely noticeable, his teeth clenching.  _Loved, not loves_. Past tense.

Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. Sprinkles or no sprinkles. White frosting, blue frosting. Multicolored rainbows. One cake, no, maybe two. So many foreign flavors. Which do you want? Which do you think is best? Look at the little people on this one! Taste this, it's delicious!

Wrong. It's just so wrong. Why'd he have to come here, of all places? Why? Why? It was because of this place that he couldn't save Aoba-san! He had promised he'd be back in a few minuets, that Aoba-san should rest while he was gone! Why?! Why?!

Why couldn't he have saved him?

Part of Clear's mind registered his sudden anger. It was that part of his mind that told him that his anger was pointless. The rest didn't care.  _He_  did not care. He didn't care about the umbrella that he'd dropped that was now blowing away in the storm, nor did he care about his only glove ripping and tearing as it went through thick, two-pane glass. He didn't care about the cakes and cupcake and treats in the window, now scattered on the floor of the store with the force of his hit, the bits and pieces of the window mixing in with the sugary mess and shining dully.

For some reason, he focused in on that glass with a numbing interest. As quickly as his anger had come, it vanished and turned into simple, empty coldness that spread thickly through metal wires and tubes that made up his entirety.

" **Your heart is like glass."**

" **My heart?"**

A glass heart that shatters into millions of pieces. It could never be put back together, never returned to the same state it was before it had broken.

Clear suddenly felt very tired. His head drooped and his eyes half closed as his arm fell back to his side, the sleeve of his jacket catching on a stray piece of glass in the window and ripping. In the rain, he was drenched, soaked to the bone as one would say, if Clear ever had any real bones in the first place. To tired to move, to tired to go home where more memories lived and danced, taunting him amid the faint glitter and shine of crystal and glass. Smiles and tears, laughter and shouting, pain and ecstasy.

_Aoba-san, I am not strong enough._

He couldn't go back, he couldn't go forward. All paths converged in front of Clear in an endless loop that seemed impossible to escape from. It hurt too much now to try and fight it and find a new path.

"I'm sorry, Aoba-san. Forgive me."

A bright smile shone in his mind, brilliant, beautiful, and alive. Clear clung to that image, willing it to stay with him.

In the falling rain, among the fallen glass of the shattered bakery window, the white haired male suddenly collapsed, crashing gracelessly onto the sidewalk and into a puddle. To tired to move on, Clear slept, shut down, without a care to his surroundings or his recent actions.

He didn't wonder if anything would ever wake him up.


End file.
